All language subtitles for Its Love Again

Ye gods of song and
dance must I suffer?

Mr. Raymond
I'm doing my best.

Yes, I know.

That's what makes it so pitiful.

Now, Mr. Raymond it's
nearly 8:00 in the morning.

The girl is tired.

Aren't I tired?

Have I been in bed all night?

She can't sing, she can't dance.

Take her away.

Tell Mr. Raymond you're sorry.

Mr. Raymond--

You dare?

One pout and you're out.

But Mr. Raymond--

You're out.

You're all out.

We don't open, the show's off.

But, Mr. Raymond--

Yes, you can tell the backers
this production is cancelled.

Yes, Mr. Raymond.

I'll have them
telephony your flat.

They can save their breath.

I'll never set foot
in a theatre again.

I'm going home, to bed.

But, Mr. Raymond--

All right, everybody
back at 11:00.

There's no point.

I was my hands of all of you.

I wash my hands of the theatre.

I hate the people.

What am I going to do?

I'll tell you what
I'm going to do.

I'm going to enter
the monastery.

I shall be a holy man, I
shall achieve serenity.

I said serenity.

No, I won't spell it.

No, I don't know
which monastery,

just that it will be on a rock.

And after the course
of many years,

I shall try to forget
the vile yowlings

of these fat cats and sopranos.

And those dancers.

Grinning, leaping elephants,
that's what they are.

And the actors, if I see
one of them on that rock

I'll it at him, holy men or not.

There's a young
lady to see you, sir.

Tell her I'm out.

She's here, sir.

I've got an appointment.

I'm Elaine Bradford.

Who says so?

Your office.

I haven't got an office.

I just renounced them.

I don't blame you.

I had trouble with them, too.

They made me wait
months for my audition.

Audition?

But I can sing
and dance, Mr. Raymond.

At least I think I can.

And I want you to
think I can, too.

Just one song and dance.

Please.

İf you insist.

Thank you, Mr. Raymond.

Don't interrupt.

I said if you insist on
singing, go out of that door

and shout Woolf.

Shout-- wolf?

Wolf.

Did you call me?

So you're Woolf.

What do you want?

I don't know.

Except that I'm
supposed to sing.

I think.

Not loud, I hope.

I got a headache.

You play.

Why not?

I took lessons .

I hope you took lessons.

Dancing lessons.

That's fine.

Let's sing.

- Dear, I do hope Mr.
Raymond isn't asleep.

That's alright.

You won't wake him.

Archie, my pet.

Darling, of all
people, what luck.

Who's Darling?

Don't you know
Francine de Nobles?

She used to be Raymond's
star before she started

dodging mother
parts in Hollywood.

How's Hollywood?

Hollywood?

Ew.

So everyone says.

You couldn't have come
at a better time .

You've saved my life.

I was about to
enter the convent.

Or a monastery.

But now that you are
back, I'm unfrocked.

You shall go into my new review.

No more of these
brat youngsters.

At last a real actress.

What's she got that I haven't?

Hardening of the arteries.

Remember, Francie,
that time you

sang in our first great success?

Remember?

Remember?

Remember, my dear, I
shall never forget.

Let's have it again.

Sorry.

That's alright.

But it's definitely your round.

Nimble foot work, that.

Looking for this?

No, not at all.

That's quite alright.

I know exactly how you feel.

I save strings.

Besides, I've got one of my own.

You're a friend of Archie's?

Certainly not.

You think I'd do
this to a friend?

Thank you.

Let me have a crack at it.

Mind your fingers, now.

Here.

They're very nice fingers.

In fact, they're
very nice hands.

A queer duck, Archie.

Awful.

Very neatly put.

He is awful.

He's got to carry along
without his doorknob.

I can't work it.

İt serves him right.

He actually objects to my
tap dancing, says it's noisy.

No soul.

Not a shred.

So you dance?

Like a gazelle.

And I called myself a gazelle.

Refreshments.

Right wheel.

Halt.

We been dancing, Boys.

Do you dance, Boys?

Not as a rule, sir.

But on one occasion, with
the aid of six very old

fashioned cocktails,
and your uncle,

I executed, if you
would pardon me

sir, a Shuffle Off to Buffalo.

Look, won't you come inside
and be more comfortable?

I'd like to, really,
but I must get on.

No, don't, please.

Tomorrow, then?

We could lunch?

We should dine.

And we must dance.

That's very sweet of you.

And please don't think
I'm standing on ceremony.

In my text, a doorknob is
always an introduction.

One day, perhaps.

Just one day?

Soon.

And now, thanks for the
drink and the gazelle dance.

You simply can't
run off this way.

In the first place,
I'll be terrible lonely.

And besides, you're
extremely lovely.

I beg your pardon?

Not you.

Yes of course, you.

Your're lovely, too.

Goodbye.

Goodbye?

What's your name?

Where do you live?

Here, let me pass.

Here, now, what's up?

I'm up and I want to get down.

Stop that girl.

What's the name of the
young man in Number 67.

Mr. Peter Carlton.

Carlton.

C-A-R-L-T-O-N.

Boys, were you ever in love?

Once, sir, but
nothing came of it.

I wasn't firm enough.

Just tell them Freddy
Rathburn's arrived.

My hat.

My scarf.

Your card, sir?

Lady Horton is
entertaining tonight.

Lady Horton is very
entertaining any night.

Your invitation,
if you please, sir.

I'll just slip in
and mill around a bit.

Lady Horton's drawbridge is
always lowered for a Rathburn.

I won't sign another autograph.

Don't be an ass.

You're a celebrity,
you've got to.

I'm tired of being a celebrity.

I want to go home.

Well you can't.

Hello, Montague.

Who's here?

Meet C. Rutherford Scarsdale.

Paints ceilings,
federal ceilings.

What for?

Well, you're lying
in bed, there's

nothing to do than
look at the ceiling.

Ha ha.

Now, when you start
painting these ceilings--

Hey, what's the idea?

Just a few details
for the Daily Record.

You keep out, he's mine.

I work for the Tribune, so
he belongs to the Tribune.

Alright.

Where are you going?

I want to put that girl
on my bedroom ceiling.

Well, be careful she
isn't a journalist.

Here, why should you
have exclusive rights?

Because he's mine.

I made him.

Who was he before he
appeared in my column?

Nobody.

Nobody.

You go find a
celebrity of your own.

But how?

I don't know.

Why not try the way
I do-- make one.

Then your permanently
in on the ground floor.

That's what I do,
Freddie my boy.

That's why my stuff sells
and your stuff's rotten.

Come on let's have
another drink.

The Record been fools enough
to give you your job back?

No.

A friend of mine's got
it-- Peter Carlton.

But I help him.

You help him?

Then he's as good as sacked.

Come on, let's go somewhere
else and have another drink.

Nice parties Lady Horton gives.

I thought you were
going for tidbits.

Well, come along with the story.

Who was there?

All the usual people.

Go to bed.

You've got to
write that column.

The boss will be furious.

Alright, mastermind, tell
me whom to write about.

Tell me whom to write about.

Bicarbonate of soda.

Now let's think of someone.

Echo answers, Who?

What we want to
find is a celebrity

who will be exclusively ours
and get in on the ground floor

permanently.

A great publicity
personality who

no one can get at but ourselves.

In other words, a scoop.

Better still-- Peter,
this great brain

has conceived of great thought.

We must invent a
celebrity of our own,

a child of my imagination,
someone who no one can get

any news from because
there ain't no such person.

Now, who can we invent?

Echo answers,.

Did you hear what I said?

Let's invent-- who was the
man who went through Asia

with an umbrella,
riding a mock turtle?

That's the kind of man we want.

Better still, a woman.

Are you taking all this down?

What's a yashmak?

That's the thing
oriental ladies wear

over their what-do-you-call-its.

This fascinating lady
pilots her own airplane

from India, Persia, and Arabia
to London, and vice versa.

A great huntress, thinks
nothing of bagging

a tiger or two before breakfast.

And what a woman,
alluring, mysterious.

Men would go mad over her.

Women would swoon with envy.

But no one sees this white
treasure except her prince

lover, the Maharajah of, um--
The Maharajah of what, Freddie?

What Freddie?

The Maharajah.

The Maharajah.

Will there be
anything else, sir?

Yes, Boys.

Hang on to India for me.

There.

I'll soon find a home
for your Maharajah.

Now, then, tell me
where I hit, boys.

Ooh!

Where was it?

My tummy, sir.

There.

The Maharajah of Matummyta.

Good old Indian name, that.

Don't be
silly, you hit Boys.

I'm sorry, Boys.

Just a slip of the lance.

What's next to your tummy?

Miroshar, sir.

The Maharajah of Miroshar.

Now, let's see, what's her name?

I've got to make an
honest woman of her.

Nothing like
calling a girl Smith.

Much-traveled
family with her, get

into all the best hotels, too.

Smythe.

Smythe?

Alright, Smythe-Smythe.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Freddie, we're the proud
parents of a beautiful lady.

Are we?

I knew I wasn't feeling well.

I'm going to bed
before we have twins.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Like old times, having a
death in the Society Column.

Thanks be for Mrs.
Smythe-Smythe.

She is a one, though.

Just caught her twentieth tiger.

Though how she
has time for that,

what with the Maharajah in
India, the Prince in Persia,

a sheik in Arabia--

Endless society
reporters in London.

Don't you worry, dearie,
your boyfriend's safe enough.

He's not my boyfriend.

I haven't even heard from him.

But he doesn't
know where you live.

-Who knows where Mrs.
Smythe-Smythe lives.

But he finds her
when nobody else can.

Nobody except that
Maharajah of Miroshar.

I wonder if your Mr. Carlton
ever peeks under her yashmak.

Why not?

Newspaper men have
to go everywhere.

Fancy sitting in
a harem all day,

with a lace curtain
over your face

and be waited on hand and foot.

Not me.

I'd be gadding around to
smart hotels and parties

and getting me
picture in the paper.

So would I. What
a chance wasted.

That's what it is, sheer waste.

What I couldn't do
with her publicity.

I wonder if I dare.

It's a brainwave!

Brixton 2-3-4.

Yeah?

Hello.

This is Elaine speaking.

Listen.

This may sound absolutely mad,
but you've got to do it for me.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Now wait a minute,
wait a minute,

let me get this straight.

Imperial Palace,
tonight at 10:00?

Right.

But don't you forget
to give me the cue.

It's as bad as that?

What did you
expect, a decoration

from the old man for letting The
Record steal on us?

I told him I was
pulling every string.

What did he say?

He said the only
string that he was

interested in was the
one that Carlton pulls.

I'd stop at nothing to get some
of exclusive Smythe-Smythe news

for the Tribune.

Now where the blazes--

Now don't you start
any of your old tricks.

If you think I'm going
to let Carlton take

my daily bread out
of your mouth--

Hello.

Bill on the wire.

Him.

He hasn't given
me a good tip yet.

There's something phony about
this Smythe-Smythe woman.

I wonder if you're right.

You've never known me wrong.

Hello, yes.

That's fine.

Thanks for the tip.

Horse run?

Dinner at the Imperial Palace.

Who's there?

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
and Earl Craig.

Madame Smythe-Smythe,
she's arrived.

Why are you fidget, Francois?

Why is everyone fidget?

Have not I, not
received kings, princes,

nobles, American gangsters,
even American film stars?

Bon.

Young man, why were you not at
the Imperial Palace last night?

General Montague was
and he got an interview

with Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

What?

That's impossible.

Impossible?

If you read The Tribune you'd
see how impossible it is.

Did you know that
she lives on llama

broth and curried dolphin?

This beautiful woman, who
trapped twenty tigers,

did the rumba, had the
whole of the Imperial Palace

in a frenzy of excitement.

It was her first
appearance in public.

And you of all
people were scooped.

Why, it's preposterous.

She couldn't have
been there because--

Well, she was.

What are you going
to do about it?

Find out who's crazy.

Me or Montague or--

Boys, we've been outraged.

Your master and I have
been robbed while we slept.

Indeed, sir?

I didn't hear anyone
in the night, sir.

Not here, you fool,
at the Imperial Palace.

What's Mr. Carlton going
to say when he hears

that Smythe-Smythe is no
longer the bird of flight?

Boys, the lady has lit
somewhere and laid us an egg.

- Mrs.
Smythe-Smythe was

at the Imperial
Palace last night.

Peter, this imposter
must be un-yashmaked.

There's no such word.

But there's a person.

How do you know?

What do you mean,
how do I know?

Aren't we the father and the--

And the fath--.

I see what you mean.

Maybe there is such a lady.

Yes, and then what?

Peter, you are to go
to the Imperial Palace

and face her, even if
she's shot forty tigers.

I'll show her she
stampede Freddie Rathburn.

The gentleman may approach.

Thank you.

It is the hour for medication.

The screen, if you please.

Madame.

You are very kind,
Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

You are very impetuous,
Mr. Peter Carlton.

How did you know my name?

Why shouldn't I?

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe stops here.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe stops there.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

All by Mr. Peter Carlton.

I suppose explanations
are expected.

But what about an
explanation from you?

Well, here's one.

Are you sure?

This is marvelous
seeing you again.

What's the idea?

Merely a great one.

You're printing reams about
the real Smythe-Smythe

and she didn't seem
to give a hang.

But I did.

I wanted.

Why?

I wanted to create a stir,
and then expose myself.

Just before going
quietly with the police.

No, just quite going
noisily with a show.

After I'm discovered, I
hope some manager would

take advantage of the
publicity and give

me a job under my own name.

After all, you are the
only person in London

who knows the real Mrs.
Smythe-Smythe, aren't you?

If anything happens, I'll
take full responsibility.

What do you say?

Hazel-brown.

I beg your pardon?

Your eyes-- hazel-brown.

They're beautiful.

I wonder about them.

I remembered your face and
your hair, and everything else.

But why you ever thought of
covering that lovely face

with this ridiculous
thing, I'll never know.

Then you will let me go on
being Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

Well--

Then you will?

Thank you.

What's your name?

Elaine Bradford.

Well?

What about Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

She is Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Who?

Elaine Bradford.

The girl in the hall.

What are you talking about?

She has the most
beautiful hazel-brown eyes.

Fine.

I send you to stamp
out a menace and you

come back here
mooning about eyes.

Don't you like the job?

I love her.

And all she wants is chance
to get out of the dancers.

Tomorrow, London will learn
that Mrs. Smythe-Smythe is

an accomplished dancer,
a world-renowned expert

in the temple dances
of the Far East.

That should help put her
on her feet, Freddie.

Peter, there are four
million women in London.

Why must you fall in love with
a lady who wears a yashmak

and has two big
sticks of dynamite

clutched in her
hot little hands?

But Freddie, her--

I know her hazel-brown eyes.

How many has she got?

Two at the most.

Alright, you gain two
eyes and lose your job,

- invite exposure, face J.
- Edgar at his

and start dodging
creditors again.

But think, Freddie--

Think!

You ask Freddie
Rathburn to think.

I am thinking of those horrible
things, of love and jail.

Goodbye, Romeo.

When Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
arrives for lunch,

I want the manager to
give her this card,

and bring her up to my suite.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

The Maharajah of
Miroshar salutes you.

Yes, of course.

I have been reading
the newspapers.

How nice.

Our names have been coupled.

Is that nice?

That was a mistake.

They meant the Maharajah of--

Well?

The Maharajah of Urcha.

The Maharajah of Urcha?

Surely a lotus blossom
would not defile her beauty

with the slimy
touch of a bullfrog.

İt was nothing like that.

There was no love
in your heart?

I love nobody.

Gods of my
ancestors, place the heart

of heart of this fair lotus
blossom in these hands of mine.

I'd better be going.

Those little hands,
like fluttering birds,

caught in a hunter's snare.

I've got to have
my hair done at 4.

Those eyes, deeper
than the Shalimar,

with ever changing light, like
wind across the jungle grasses.

And a fitting at
the dressmakers.

Show me, show me that face and
open up the gates of heaven.

I'm afraid that can wait.

Show me thy naked face.

Or as the great poet
Taj Mahal has said,

How beautiful.

You speak Hindustani.

Only in India.

Let me have one more
look of thy divine face.

One more?

We've met?

At the Boulevard,
don't you remember?

Was I there?

You favored me with a
glimpse beneath your yashmak.

Did I?

Goodbye.

they
slave, thy slave.

One look, one look.

You might find me changed.

Changed?

That eternal face
could never change.

You are not Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Quick, a whiskey and soda.

What is it, Boys?

A potentate sir.

He wants a whiskey and soda.

Well, give him one.

A sandwich, too, poor devil.

Did you say a potentate?

Sort of a Maharajah, sir.

What?

Not old Miroshar himself?

The thought had
occurred to me, sir.

Don't let him in.

Tell him-- tell him I'm out.

Look out!

Hey!

What is this?

Look here, sir.

Can't we talk this over, sir?

I should say not.

İt's you.

Of course it's me.

Are you crazy or am I?

We thought you were the
Maharajah of Miroshar.

So I am.

I was.

I just come from
the Imperial Palace.

So that's your trick.

I didn't hurt her.

I just sent her about her
business in a nice way.

You're a fine pal.

I promised that girl
I'd let her carry on.

All she wants is a chance.

Who are you phoning?

Elaine.

I'm going to beg her pardon.

That's great.

I borrow five pounds from
a pal I've been saving up

for a rainy day, and
go oriental for you--

Hello, Elaine?

This is Peter.

Look, I'm awfully-- Hello?

Hello!

Hello.

Sorry, old boy, I didn't
know you had it that bad.

By the courtesy of
Mr. Peter Carlton.

A fat lot of courtesy in that.

It was a dirty trick.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
has everything.

Probably never had to go
without a thing in her life.

And I give her a chance to
help someone-- Elaine Bradford.

Has Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
ever sung herself hoarse,

sung till she's dropped to
try and convince some idiot

that without breach
of promise

and preferring to
breakfast alone,

one might still have the
makings of a fine star?

Well I have, for months
and months and months.

Don't, please.

Please don't.

I've told you that's
all Freddie's fault.

He calls himself a thinker.

And that's what he thought of.

That's all right.

It's off my chest.

But--

And tell your friend
Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

I didn't disgrace her.

And I promise I won't
use her name anymore.

Wait a minute.

That you, Carlton, old boy?

I should like you to
do me a little favor.

Edgar.

I've got a few instructions
for you, Carlton.

My wife is giving a party.

What's that?

I said, how nice.

It's to be a
little, um, oriental party

with an Indian motif.

My wife is turning the house
into an Eastern bazaar.

Now, do you think
you manage to get--

Edgar.

These are your instructions.

Yes, sir?

You must get
Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

as the guest of honor.

Guest of-- But
that's impossible.

You see, she never
goes out socially.

It would mean a great
deal to me in the future.

It will mean your
future job, young man.

I'm sacked.

Don't be silly.

You can get her there.

I can't.

She's in India.

You might get her here in time.

What date's the show?

She'd still be in India.

That sort of
Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

to you.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe is dead.

Don't be funny.

She was never born.

What?

A child of my imagination.

And Freddie's the father.

Well, mother, you must settle
down and have another family.

Wait.

We'll adopt you.

So there isn't a
Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

And now that you need
one to keep your job,

you come running to me.

Well, guess again.

Wait.

That wasn't nice.

I know.

I'm sorry.

But I'm not sorry.

Well, you should be.

After all, you know
I'm in love with you.

Well, you haven't shown it yet.

There, that shows you.

Doesn't show a thing.

It doesn't?

I must be losing my drift.

No, thanks, I've just had one.

Look here, Elaine.

I'm not trying to do
this for myself alone.

It's a cinch to help you
along with your little scheme.

And after that, I
thought we could

walk around or sit
around or dance around.

So you were planning
all that, were you?

Of course I was
planning all that.

Didn't I tell you I love you?

Don't you think I want to sit
around and dance around, too?

Then you do love me?

But all I'm being forced to be
Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Then you don't love me?

No.

But Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
will go to that party.

And don't blame me if
anything awful happens.

See you in the papers.

Wait.

Wait!

Elaine!

Come in.

İt's terrific.

What a get-up.

I'm afraid you won't
be seeing it much longer

because it's coming off.

I'm not going.

But you can't back out now.

I can't, can't I?

If you can spring
surprises like this on me.

Colonel Bertram Edgerton
of the Six Lances,

who has just
returned from India,

is being entertained tonight
by Mrs. J. Edgar Durland.

The occasion will mark the
first meeting of the Colonel

and the fascinating
Mrs. Smythe-Smythe,

who is the other guest of honor.

It is anticipated that these
two authorities on the Far East

should find much in common.

You read very nicely.

Durland sprung it
on me this morning.

I've been thinking
about it all day.

I'm Freddie.

Freddie the Maharajah.

This is no time for grudges.

Let's be friends.

How can I be friends with
people who think nothing

of showering Maharajahs
and Colonels on me?

What's next, a
herd of elephants?

Don't you worry
about that Colonel.

As soon as we find out
where he's stopping

I'll put a spoke in his wheel.

We left Boys phoning every
club and hotel in London.

It's no use.

I don't know what's going
to happen to the Colonel,

but I do know what's
going to happened to me.

I'll take it.

It's very likely Boys.

Yes?

Good work, Boys.

The Colonel's staying at
the Dismounted Calvary Club.

I'm off.

And when you meet
the Colonel, relax.

It'll be me.

There you are.

Everything under control.

What are you planning
to do to the Colonel?

Add kidnapping to your
other parlor tricks?

Leave that to Freddie.

What a Colonel he'll make.

You two will have a
grand time together.

You know I wouldn't do anything
to get you in a jam, Elaine.

You don't have to.

I do alright myself.

That'll have to stop.

I won't have you
getting in jams.

You really think I'll
be alright if I go?

You'll be just as save
as you are right now.

That's just what I thought.

I don't know why I'm doing this.

But I'll take a
chance on you and go.

Don't lock up yet.

You know you have
a very nice face.

Do you think that very nice
face would give me a kiss?

Time for just one
before closing.

I'm looking for
Colonel Edgerton.

How cab you tell them-- that is,
would you tell me which is he?

Colonel Edgerton has
left for the evening.

He hasn't started
for Mrs. Durland's?

No, I believe he's going to
make several calls on his way.

But I couldn't tell you where.

Mr. Peter Carlton.

Hello, Carlton, old boy.

How do you do, sir?

Awful, isn't it?

It is a bit startling.

Mr. Carlton, do tell me you
think I've outdone myself I so

want Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
to look at all this

and then turn round
and say, India.

Yes, well, I certainly
hope she thinks of it.

But when Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
gets violently

homesick she says
the strangest things.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Has the Colonel arrived yet?

Not yet.

I hope Mrs.
Smythe-Smythe likes him.

Very nice fellow, I hear.

One of the best
tiger shots in India,

outside of Mrs.
Smythe-Smythe, of course.

If you please.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am
going to ask Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

to honor us by demonstrating the
rare temple dances of the East,

in which, you know, she is
a world-renowned expert.

What kind of a
dance did she say?

Temple.

Well, what's that?

I don't know.

But there's this one.

I know that one.

So does everyone else.

I was so sure you wouldn't mind.

But I-- I have no music.

Yes you have.

But I-- I don't think they
would know the proper music

that I would have to have.

Yes they do.

They've been
rehearsing all day.

But I-- I couldn't dance
without--- without--

But I shouldn't want
you to dance without.

I got a costume.

I thought of everything.

Colonel Edgerton.

Colonel Edgerton.

Mr. And Mrs. Hill-Mitchellton.

Mr. And Mrs. Hill-Mitchellton.

Colonel Edgerton.

Colonel Edgerton
is just arrived.

My, there must
be some mistake.

Thank you.

Mr. Freddie Rathburn.

Mr. Freddie Rathburn.

Colonel Edgerton.

Colonel Edgerton.

How do you do?

Allow me to present Colonel
Edgerton of Six Lances.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

How do you do?

How do you do?

Permit me, Madame.

I know you probably have a
lot to say to one another,

but don't monopolize
her, Colonel.

What a grand makeup.

What?

Well, I must say
you look marvelous.

Jolly good of you.

You know, you look
very nice yourself.

How much longer do you think
we'll have to stay here?

Well, I thing something
could be arrange.

No, thanks.

It's alright.

There's no one listening,
you can speak freely.

I think we might find
a quieter spot for this.

The quieter the better.

I like a woman who takes
her straight.

Are you alright?

Relax.

There's no one looking.

I say, it's a bit public, what?

By gad, madame, you're a
woman after me own heart.

By Jove, it's too bad I
never ran across you in India.

Where did you spend most of
your time when you were there?

Down near the bottom,
where it comes to a point.

Now, I'm afraid I
must say goodbye.

Not before I've kissed the
hand that killed twenty cats.

Killed them?

Why, I love them.

I even have two sleeping
at the foot of my bed.

You know, it's all very well
for you to see it like that,

but you make my
record of fourteen

tigers unworthy
of the Six Lances.

Tigers?

You-- you mean tigers.

Yes, tigers.

Well, Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
what about sights?

London or India.

Guns!

Do you prefer a globe
or telescope sight?

Well, it all depends on
which part of the animal

I'm shooting at.

And now, Ladies
and Gentlemen, I do

hope that Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
and Colonel Edgerton, two

of the greatest
marksmen of the Orient,

will show us how they bring
down those big, bad cats.

I generally shoot better
after a few.

And anybody who is gun-shy
must shut their eyes

and hold their ears.

Well, madame,
we're on Safari now.

We've started?

No, no.

Over here.

Ha ha, you've
hit a.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

No, no, over here.

You've only ringed him.

Let's get her out
of here before they

ask her to do the
Indian Rope Trick.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

It's been a charming evening.

I'm going home.

Not yet.

I'm tired.

Come on up to my
place and sit down.

No.

Well, then we'll
go somewhere else.

You can't go home yet.

Can't I?

Well, in the first place,
there's some more columns.

Now, tell me-- Elaine,
why won't you let me kiss you?

So you can put that
in tomorrow's column?

What do you mean by
letting that old murder

frighten me to death?

He nearly shot me.

You nearly shot me.

Too bad I didn't.

If you'd wounded
me just a little,

would you have nursed
me back to health?

No, I'd have brushed
up on my shooting.

No, you wouldn't.

You'd have sat down and
cried your eyes out.

Well, at least I'd
have been sitting down.

I have a country
seat near here.

Take me to it.

Like a shot.

What a night.

We might be miles
away in a jungle.

Don't say jungle.

I'm sorry.

I'm merely begun--

No gun, or tiger or India.

Or anything to do with
that beastly woman.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

My Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

Your Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

She's all yours now.

I've finished with her.

My feet.

Pale hands I loved
beside the Shalimar.

That's pretty.

What's it from?

Indian love lyrics.

Now, look--

She's smiling now.

Now she's frowning.

He's shaking his finger at her.

She's snapped at it.

She's got up and moved away.

He's pulling her back.

She's up again.

She's down.

She's up again.

He's down.

Saved by the bell.

That boy needs help
in the next round.

A nice time to blow in.

It's a terrible time.

I'm going to bed.

Goodnight.

Here, wait a minute.

You can't go to bed.

Listen, my boy, I'll
put out the light

and be in bed before
the room gets dark.

No, you don't.

Henceforth, you'll be known
as lucky Raymond, the man who

was born with a
horseshoe in his mouth.

You have a new star.

Have I?

She can sing like an
angel, dance like a fairy.

And you ought to see her legs.

Ought I?

And I found her.

Is she engaged?

Has she got a name?

Name?

Have you ever heard
of Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

Alright, dear, if you say so.

From now on, I'm
going to be me.

Then will send
Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

back to-- where she came from.

If I'm going to be a sensation,
I'll do it as Elaine Bradford.

Tried that before.

Well, I can try it again.

You'll make good, too.

Who knows, maybe some day you'll
be able to dance as well as me.

You know, Peter, I do believe
I'm beginning to like you.

Thank you, Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Who?

Sorry.

Miss Elaine Bradford.

Now and forever.

Hold it.

Look who's here.

Woman, do your stuff.

Mr. Raymond, you really
want me to sing for you?

I would be charmed.

And if you think I'm good,
will you give me a chance?

My girl--

Don't say it yet.

Sit down.

Well, what did I say?

You've got it all.

Didn't I tell you?

Looks, talent, and a name.

And you're going to see that
name spread across the front

of my theatre, in
letters that high.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Why should The Record have
exclusive news of you.

The readers of The Tribune
are theatre-goers, you know.

It might be bad for business if
the got the wrong impression.

I'm sure Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
will treat all you gentlemen

of the press on
an equal footing.

Shall we say tomorrow?

How about a little
drink, gentlmen?

Our pal Montague.

What, again?

Do you realize you'll
be in

again unless we can choke
off this competition.

You're telling me?

He wouldn't even print a line
about the end of the world

if he didn't have an exclusive.

Turn that mob loose on
me and Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

will be about as exclusive
as a Hollywood party.

I've got it.

Write tomorrow's news yesterday
and make it come through today.

What?

It's quite simple.

I think out what you
do, Peter writes it.

Then you do it.

In that way, we can
always keep a jump

ahead of the other newspapers.

Well, Mr. Thinker,
what do I do?

Daring exploit,
that's what you do.

Even if I break
my neck, I suppose.

Yes, I'm even
prepared to risk that.

Joe, Mrs. Smythe-Smythe was
riding on a camel in the road

this morning.

Yes, so Peter Carlton
said in The Record.

But she only pulled the
stunt 20 minutes ago.

I know what I'm talking about,
I have a man tailing her.

Well, if The Record printed it
first then someone's a witch.

No!

Temper, temper.

That settles it.

I'm going to look
after this myself.

I'm going to stick by that
woman's side day and night.

Yes, we'll see who's first home
with the washing next time.

There.

Not half bad, but
the next time--

There won't be any next time.

There wouldn't have
been a this time

if I'd have know
anything about it.

Then you didn't--

No, that--

So, you wrote the article.

Yes.

That was Mrs.
Smythe-Smythe's last stunt.

But we've got
a great write-up

already written for
your next stunt.

The
don't interest me.

But I know this one, Elaine.

It isn't dangerous.

No!

From now on the only
public appearance of Mrs.

Smythe-Smythe will be
behind the footlights.

For the rest of
the time, I'm me.

But don't be silly, Elaine.

Miss Bradford to you.

It falls to The Tribune
to expose the greatest hoax

practiced upon the
public in recent years.

That's the lot.

I'll get it set up.

Give it to me.

Yes, that's pretty good.

Front page stuff.

And how.

Aren't you going to use it?

Yes.

I'm going to use it.

Congratulations,
Elaine Bradford.

So that why you look like
the cat who's eaten the canary.

Not eaten, just caught.

And now that you've
got it, I suppose

you'd like to play
with it a little.

Well, go ahead.

Well?

It's up to you whether this
goes into tomorrow's paper.

What's the if?

Merely that Smythe-Smythe
news comes first

to me and not to Peter Carlton.

Come and see me after the show.

I shall expect my first
big Smythe-Smythe news

tonight, so think hard.

What does that bird
of ill omen want?

Montague knows everything.

What?

If I don't give him the
exclusive dope on Mrs.

Smythe-Smythe, he's going
to publish an expose.

You mustn't do anything that
will cost you your big chance.

I don't care about the show.

But I'm not going
to let Peter down.

Peter doesn't really need
Mrs. Smythe-Smythe anymore.

He's on his way to bigger
things with journalism

that mere society reporting.

And he's going to keep on,
if I know anything about it.

Yes, but, I don't
think Peter would like

to hold down a job
in those conditions.

How do you think I'd
feel if he lost it?

Please, Freddie, for once
in your life be a thinker.

Think what you like,
but don't say anything.

Peter mustn't know
anything about this.

Lady!

All the boys out
front are thinking up

a new word for sensation.

Wait'll you see the papers.

Wait'll you see mine.

I don't want to see the papers.

I hate the papers.

What?

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe reaches a
new high and she doesn't care?

I'm not even sure I want to
be Mrs. Smythe-Smythe anymore.

Well, you certainly picked a
dandy time to change your mind.

What's the idea?

I'm just fed up
with the whole thing.

You can't spend your whole
life at the fancy dress party.

There's a girl for you.

She wants to be, she is, and
then she doesn't want to be.

Well, let me know if
you change your mind.

Peter!

Freddie!

Fifteen minutes, the
dancers are just finishing.

Now what?

Leave that to me.

There's just one thing to do.

And I'm afraid I'm
going to do it.

The Record?

I'm speaking for
Mr. Peter Carlton.

Something for the soft press.

The other papers
haven't got it yet.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe
has walked out

in the middle of her
first night performance.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe isn't
in her dressing room, sir.

Anything happens
to that girl, I'll

sock you for not telling
me about Montague.

Well, let's find him.

By the time this
reaches you I shall be well

on my way to a
remote destination.

I have received a
summons which I cannot

deny and my public
life must end.

A thousand apologies.

Signed, Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Ladies and Gentlemen,
I regret, but it

would be useless to continue
with tonight's performance.

Your money will be refunded
to you at the box office.

[ELAINE REPRISES
"I NEARLY LET LOVE

GO SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS"]

Stop!

You're fine.

What's your name?

Elaine.

Elaine what?

Bradford.

C-A-R-L-T-O-N.